The Staffroom
by Felstaff
Summary: It's the beginning of a new year at Hogwarts, and a surprise greets the staff. Told from the perspective of the teachers from within the staffroom, we learn about a mysterious new student who could change the school, and the world, forever.
1. Chapter 1

**The Staffroom**

 _Chapter 1_

Despite the warm September sunshine streaming through the grimy windows, the fire was alight in the staffroom. It was empty, as it had been all summer long. But it wouldn't be empty for long.

The silence was punctuated by the staffroom clock; it looked much like any muggle clock you'd find above the fireplace in any muggle home. Only it had been very subtly bewitched; the time it showed depended on how you looked at it. If you had a prior engagement, and were pressed for time, it would appear to speed up, in order to make you hurry faster so you weren't late. If you were busy, the second hand would slow down, giving you more time to finish your business before heading off. The clock had been hanging over the fireplace for longer than anyone can remember, and nobody knows who had bewitched it. It had never been wound, as far as anybody was concerned, and had ticked and tocked without fail for many years. Indeed, its hypnotic rhythm was even able to send tired professors to sleep. It was this clock's gentle beat that had sent Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher, to sleep one night in a slumber so deep, that when he awoke the next morning, he left his body behind him and continued to teach as a ghost.

As the sun rose higher, and dawn became a bright and cheerful morning, the heat in the room began to circulate motes of dust, which danced in front of the window. Every now and then a lazy ember would drift up from the fireplace and waft into the room, idly floating in the warm air, before vanishing like magic.

All was tranquil, and quiet, and cosy.

Suddenly the door banged open, disturbing the serenity, and two heavy, scuffed boots stomped their way into the room, followed by the soft pad-pad of a cat's paws.

"Another year, Mrs. Norris," Argus Filch, the caretaker, said to the narrow-eyed cat, as he bustled into the room. "Another load of 'orrible kids."

He sighed to himself as he stood hunched in the middle of the room, and put his knobbly fists on his hips, staring out at the sunshine with an almost-permanent grimace etched on his face. Mrs. Norris acted disinterested and prowled across the room, before leaping up onto the chair Professor Binns died in, and curled up, one eye still roving suspiciously around.

"Up you get," Filch barked at his cat, "you 'aven't got time for lazin' around. We need to start getting' ready before the little blighters start muckin' things up."

Mrs. Norris stared languidly at him, before getting up again, rebelliously slowly.

Filch took one gnarled hand off his hip and picked at his bulbous, purple nose. "Come on, we've got to pick up all the books the teachers left in 'ere before the summer 'oliday, and get 'em back in the library before Madam Pince arrives."

At the mention of Madam Pince, the cantankerous and ancient Hogwarts librarian, a certain twinkle danced across Filch's deep-set and otherwise haggardly eyes. He was lost in thought for a moment, until Mrs. Norris shimmied up against his shins, and then he snapped out of his ruminations, and began swiping up all the dusty old books that lay throughout the room; across tables, opened over arms of armchairs, and piled up in one corner next to a tray of chipped mugs and teapots.

As he packed the books up in a sack, Filch's eye caught a long golden Y-shaped rod, but more twisted, like a branch of ivy, leaning up against a large wardrobe.

"Aha!" Filch called, startling Mrs Norris, "I been lookin' for that!"

It was a Secrecy Sensor, one of Filch's favourite toys, and one he used often to pat-down students with, when he thought they were concealing banned items. Filch had a list of prohibited objects in his office that stretched all the way down the wall. This year, he'd added Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs to it, bringing the total number of forbidden things to 437. The list had been growing steadily year-on-year ever since Filch became caretaker of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but it was the arrival of the Weasley twins—Fred and George—several years earlier, that had nearly doubled it in length.

He moved towards the secrecy sensor, but as he did so, the wardrobe shook and banged, as if something inside it was trying to get out. Filch froze, and took a step back.

"Better not," he said to Mrs Norris, "don't want one of _those_ things comin' out of it, eh?"

He left the Secrecy Sensor be, grabbed his sack of un-returned library books ('Teaching Advanced Arithmancy to Apathetic Students', 'Divining the Future, and How to See It', 'Recent Revelations In Herbological Studies', 'Quidditch Quarterly', among others) and headed out the door, slamming it shut.

Filch's heavy footsteps trailed off, leaving the staffroom silent and peaceful once more. It would stay that way for the entire morning, save the odd house elf popping in out of nowhere to tend the fire, quickly dust a shelf, or sweep the floor, before popping elsewhere to continue their chores.

The first professor to arrive was Filius Flitwick, the charms teacher. Having stayed at the Three Broomsticks the previous night in the nearby village of Hogsmeade, he had arrived at Hogwarts around the time Filch was carefully replacing the books in the library (lest Madam Pince discover any of her books had been taken out without her say-so), and spent the morning sorting out his office in preparation. Now that he'd readied himself for the start of term, he decided to while away the rest of the afternoon drinking tea and eating biscuits in the comfort of the staffroom. Bustling in, his small stature, attributed to his part-goblin heritage, meant he only reached as high as the table tops. However there was a smaller armchair and side-table that was perfect for him.

He picked up a chipped old teapot, conjured up a stream of water from the tip of his wand, and with a quick further swish boiled it. Pulling out a teabag from his pocket, he threw it into his favourite mug, poured some tea, and hopped up onto his diminutive armchair.

He frowned. He was sure he'd left his copy of "A Farewell to Charms" on the arm of his chair before he left for the summer. He had been looking forward to picking up again where he'd left off. Never mind; Madam Pince had probably found it and returned it to the library. He'd be in a lot of trouble if she found out it was he who had taken it without permission. Not to worry, though. He will pick up another copy later. He reached into his other pocket, which housed a packet of Witch Tea biscuits—his favourite—and he sat, contented, staring out of the window onto the glorious surroundings of Hogwarts castle. He smiled as he crunched down on a Witch Tea; another year was upon them, and he was ready once more to teach a new generation of students the magic of charms.

His peaceful reverie was shattered by the appearance of the next person. The door flew open, and across the threshold a cold, black shadowy figure passed. The man was thin, stringy even, with gangly arms hidden beneath sweeping black robes. His hook nose, sallow and greasy like candle tallow, peeked out from behind his large hood. Masking the sides of his face, long tangled oily black hair hung limply, swaying across his face with each footstep.

"Severus," Flitwick said politely.

"Filius," Severus Snape, the potions teacher, returned, with none of the warmth of Flitwick's greeting. Snape pulled his hood down, revealing a distinctly vulture-like angular face that cast a look of suspicion upon anything it laid eyes on.

"Care for some tea?" Flitwick asked. He picked up the steaming teapot.

"No," Snape said, with a tightness in his voice that Flitwick hadn't expected. "I have much to do. I don't have the time, nor the inclination to laze about the staffroom when there is so much to prepare."

Flitwick passed over this minor insult with no reaction, and allowed Snape to traipse back and forth through the staffroom, picking up various items that were packed away in drawers; a beaker, a pestle and mortar, several cauldron stirrers, ink bottles, quills, and several rolls of parchment.

Without another word, Snape slunk out of the staffroom. Flitwick stared at the door he had just left through. He knew Snape was usually in a foul mood, but his angry outbursts rarely extended to any teachers or staff he didn't actively dislike. There had always been a mild rivalry between Snape and Flitwick—they were both heads of their highly-competitive school houses, after all—but there was never any personal animosity between them. Flitwick merely assumed Snape had had an awful journey to Hogwarts this year, or had simply got out of the wrong side of bed this morning.

He continued to chew thoughtfully on a Witch Tea biscuit.

As noon approached and passed, more teachers began to arrive and the staffroom started to fill up. Professor Sinistra, the astronomy teacher, arrived, and began chatting with Flitwick about her holiday to the Gobi Desert. "It's one of the only places on earth," she told him, "where you can study astronomy without a telescope." She showed him photographs, and he had to admit it was true as he stared at the magical picture of her standing ashen-faced on a sand dune, pointing up to a million twinkling stars. Her expression didn't look exactly pleased, but Flitwick knew she was a serious, humourless witch, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever seen her smile.

Following Sinistra came Pomona Sprout, the herbology teacher, who spoke excitedly about a new crop of Devil's Snare she was growing, which made up for the fact she couldn't get her hands on any bubotubers over the summer, "as the school is running out of their valuable pus, and the price of it in Diagon Alley is simply _extortionate_ ".

Then came Madam Hooch, who taught students how to fly on their broomsticks, accompanied by professors Babbling and Trappel, the ancient runes and muggle studies teachers respectively, and Professor Vector, the strict arithmancist. If Vector was severe, she was nothing quite like the next entrant: deputy headmistress Professor McGonagall. When McGonagall entered a room, her very appearance and withering looks were enough to silence it, even amongst the staff, but she seemed in abnormally good spirits as she walked through the door, and the other teachers greeted her warmly.

The conversation moved from what each teacher did over the summer holidays to what they think the next batch of students will be like this year.

"Has anybody seen Severus?" asked Flitwick. There was a shaking of heads from all the teachers. Professor McGonagall's unusually bright expression suddenly dropped to her usual stern demeanour.

"He was in here earlier," Flitwick continued, "and he didn't seem particularly happy about something. Does anybody know what?"

McGonagall cleared her throat, and addressed the room. "This might be a trying year for Professor Snape, as some of you may know." She gazed around, but was greeted with blank looks. "It's been ten years since the horrific event that claimed the lives of two of our finest former students, and the boy who managed to end the terrible troubles has reached schooling age."

Some teachers gasped. "Do you mean… _The Boy Who Lived_?" asked Professor Sprout, in awe.

McGonagall nodded. "Yes, Pomona, we'll be having a very special student joining us this year. Harry—"

" _Potter_ ," came a dark voice from other end of the room. Snape had appeared, and was standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with menace.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

" _Gryffindor_ , eh? I might have known!"

"Just like his father and mother – they were _both_ Gryffindors, too!"

"It took an awful long time to decide; perhaps it saw him as more of a _Slytherin_?"

"You know, I _did_ hear it mention Slytherin twice before coming to a conclusion."

"He would have done great things in Ravenclaw house, mark my words…"

The staffroom was abuzz with activity. Professor Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, was sat up gesticulating wildly with his one remaining arm. Joining in the debate were Professors Vector, Sprout, and Flitwick. They were all assessing what had happened earlier that evening; _the Sorting._

The Sorting was an annual event which placed the first year students into one of the four school houses: Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Which house they were chosen for was decided upon by a magical Sorting Hat, which sat atop each student's head individually and judged them according to their characteristics, before assigning them to a house that most suited their traits and talents. Ravenclaw was known for its most intelligent students, Hufflepuff for its most loyal, Gryffindor for its bravest, and Slytherin for the most cunning.

"Are you sure you heard that right, Pomona?" asked Professor Vector. "It suggested placing the boy in Slytherin _twice_?"

"I daresay suggested, Septima," Professor Sprout replied, "but I distinctly heard it whisper Slytherin twice—possibly more!"

"That would have put the wind up Severus, wouldn't it? Imagine that; Harry Potter, a _Slytherin_!"

Fortunately, Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin House, was not present. He had returned to his office in the dungeons immediately after the sorting ceremony; he had not been seen in the staffroom since his angry outburst the previous day. After fuming that Harry Potter would be joining Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he had stormed out in a rage, and had not spoken to anybody, save Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster, since.

Now, however, the staffroom was chatty, with many teapots whistling as teachers relaxed with cups of tea from their favourite mugs. This time of year always buzzed with a frisson of excitement among the staff as new students arrived. Many new students had older brothers and sisters at the school, and even mothers and fathers as student alumni, so naturally the teaching staff would revel in and regale each other with anecdotes from these bygone days, and hint at whether how much the new blood will behave like the old.

"I had a good look at the younger Weasley," Professor Flitwick (who was head of Ravenclaw) said.

"And?" enquired Professor Sprout (head of Hufflepuff), urgently. "Is he a Charlie, or is he a Fred-and-George?"

"It's hard to say," Flitwick mused. "There's certainly a mischievous look about him, but there's an element of humility there, too."

"Then he's certainly not a Percy!" Professor Trappel butted in. "That boy doesn't have an _ounce_ of humility."

"Neither do Fred or George," Professor Sprout retorted.

"Come now, Pomona," Flitwick said with a wry smile, "they might be troublemakers, but they have good hearts and strong heads. I guarantee you the two of them will be great successes one day—if they simply grew up a bit, and stopped trying to make those awful joke-magic sweets and trick novelties."

"Yes, we can only hope this younger Weasley—Ron I think his name was—turns out more like Bill or Charlie," Professor Sprout concluded. "I hear he's chasing dragons now—Charlie, that is."

The staff paused to reflect on the long line of Weasleys that had come through Hogwarts over the decades. Bill, who works at the wizarding bank; Charlie, a wild, adventurous man who studies dragons; and Percy, an ambitious and overly-kempt individual, currently in his fifth year. Both Bill and Charlie had been prefects, and Percy now was, too. The idea that Fred and George, twins who were the next eldest, would ever become prefects was a joke often made in the staffroom.

Professor Trappel was the Muggle Studies teacher when their parents Arthur and Molly were at Hogwarts, many years ago. Gryffindors both had been then, too, and he remembered giving Arthur a D in his O.W.L. (Ordinary Wizarding Level) exams. D for Dreadful, that is; a D was one of the lowest grades ever given in a Muggle Studies class. "It's strange," Trappel reflected, "that Arthur Weasley became such a muggle specialist", as his job, at the Ministry of Magic in London, was completely muggle-centric. "He was simply _awful_ at Muggle Studies – he once thought a tape-measure was a belt, and spent three weeks gambolling around Hogwarts with his robes wrapped round and round in this ridiculous yellow metal girdle!"

"What's a tape-measure?" Professor Sinistra asked with a serious look on her face.

Kettleburn was anxious to get the story back to Harry Potter; indeed that name had resounded throughout the staffroom for the past 24 hours, and every aspect of his life had been picked at and pored over by the intrigued staff.

"I saw Weasley and Potter getting on famously," he said, steering the conversation away from the Weasleys.

"Oh yes, they do seem quite the pair, already, don't they?" Flitwick said. "Say, I saw Lucius's boy talking to them, too. I wonder if they'll be friends."

"The Malfoy boy?" asked Kettleburn. "Hardly! Even if he did, what if he found out what that his father was one of those… _cultists_."

"Now, now, Silvanus," Flitwick implored with a serious look in his eye, "we all know Lucius was under the Imperius Curse. He had nothing to do with… with those terrible times."

"Yes, yes, I suppose not," Kettleburn said, scratching what was left of his nose with his sole remaining hand. "He is a governor, after all, so we better not—" he lowered his voice and spoke in a loud theatrical whisper –" _speak of these things_."

"Speak of whu-whu-what thuh-thuh-things?" a voice from the doorway said.

"Ah, Professor Quirrell!" called Kettleburn. "Nice to see you in here, for once. You used to practically live in here. What's happened to you, my good man?"

Professor Quirrell scurried into the room looking highly strung, eyes darting about like a meerkat. "Oh, nuh-nuh-nothing!" he said attempting to sound bright. He came and sat, stiffly, on the corner of one of the sofas. "Just thought I'd-I'd-I'd-I'd suh-see what the tea-tea-teachers were up t-to."

He nervously grasped at a tea cup, his hands jittering as he filled it up from the teapot. The rattling noise distracted most of the conversation in the staffroom. His face burned as he noticed attention focusing on him.

"Good suh-suh-suh-sorting ceremony, wasn't it?" He mumbled politely to the room, to much agreement and nodding.

"Speaking of which," Professor Sprout suddenly piped up, "don't you owe me two galleons, Ludwych?" She gave a loud cough in the direction of Professor Trappel, who had taken a sudden interest in the contents on top of the tea-tray.

"Hm?" He said, turning slowly, aware that attention was now focused upon him.

"The Boot boy; Terry," Professor Sprout waved a hand. "You bet me two galleons he'd be placed in my house and I said 'don't be silly'. Well, he's a Ravenclaw, which means you should cough up, sir!"

Professor Trappel scratched at the long whiskers on his chin. "Didn't we also discuss Morag MacDougall, to whit you said would certainly be placed in Slytherin? It seems he's now part of the Ravenclaw family, also, which means that I am owed the two galleons"

"That wasn't part of the bet!" Professor Sprout protested. "And I distinctly remember saying how the Patil twins would certainly be split into separate houses; Padma takes after her father, true Ravenclaw, and Parvati has her mother's fighting spirit in her. I think that certainly earns me a galleon!"

"Have one of my Witch Tea biscuits," Professor Flitwick offered diplomatically, "they are rather good."

This seemed to have calmed her down somewhat, and she took three.

Professor Quirrell, who had retreated to a far corner out of sight, was now surveying the staffroom through slitted eyes. He appeared to be whispering to himself. Nobody paid him any mind, however. They were now talking about one of the other students from a famous Wizarding family: Susan Bones.

"She'll be a strong one, she will," Professor Sprout beamed, for Susan had been placed in Hufflepuff. "Perhaps stronger than the Potter boy. People forget she's an orphan, too, almost identical to Potter. That reminds me; I must go and tell her great great grandmother the good news!"

Professor Sprout dashed out the staffroom, before returning a few seconds later. She addressed the teachers: "does anyone know where the portrait of Seraphina Bones is hanging now? I thought it was in the East Wing, but she might be on the third floor stairs."

"She's still being cleaned, Pomona," Professor Vector said. "You'll find her in Filch's office."

Professor Sprout's face turned a little, as though she'd smelt something unpleasant. "Oh. I'll speak to her when she's back up on the wall." She sat back down, and swiped another of Flitwick's biscuits.


End file.
